


Dragon Age

by CAPSING



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Crack, Gen, Guess Who's The Dragon!, Happily Ever After, M/M, Medieval Logic, Peter is a Knight!, Pre-Slash, there is no fourth wall and the structure is crumbling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-11 11:30:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7047874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CAPSING/pseuds/CAPSING
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sir Peter is Deadpool's Knight in Shining Armor. He just doesn't know it yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dragon Age

**Author's Note:**

> Last Wednesday I got 7 comments. This was unprecedented, and also the reason I stayed up to finish this WIP. I got through a busy weekend - and here we are, at last.

 

_Once Upon A Time, this happened._

_*_

In a land far away, beyond hills and seas, green meadows and deep valleys, Peter regarded the entrance to yet another cave skeptically.

It didn't look like anything special.

 

"Are you sure this is the place?" he wondered aloud.

He could feel the snort shuddering the horse’s frame, sending a vibration through the metal plates of his armor.

"Now that you mention it, I’m having my doubts. The scorched tree over there _does_ seem like a part of the décor of some giant," his horse whinnied at him, annoyed. “I say we’ll rain check the whole thing. How’s Tuesday? Does Tuesday work for you?”

“That was a yes-or-no question.” Peter frowned downwards. “Excuse me if after twelve failures, I’m asking for a reaffirmation. Or did you forget what happened last?”

The ninth cave they tries was full of the wrong kind of winged menace – bats. Peter was not amenable to the idea of another flock of those satanic furry birds attacking him.

"I apologise, my liege; tell me, o magnificent _human_ , you, whatever shall we do?" The horse let out a huff of fire from his nostrils, his front hoof digging into the harsh earth in what Peter recognised as a nervous habit.

The knight shrugged, the gesture lost beneath the heavy armor that enveloped his frame; his shoulders managed to budge the armor slightly upwards.

"Guess we… how did you put it, Jonathan? _Flame on_?"

"You're lucky we took a blood-oath under a red moon, or you'd be cinder by now." The horse snarled, bits of his dark chestnut coat starting to catch fire.

The human hummed and jammed his heels into the horse's ribs, satisfied at the following grunt.

"Onwards, my loyal steed!"

 

The horse galloped grudgingly forwards, not-so-subtly trying to cause the knight upon his back to crash down onto the ground. Unfortunately, the man knew how to ride; so the horse just bit the noose until his gums hurt and reminded himself why he was doing this.

He slowed into a trot as they neared the cave's entrance. The satchel he carried, attached to the saddle bumped lightly onto his side with each step, offering silent reassurance. The ground was charred black, and the air smelled like sulfur and ash. Both rider and horse eyed the different shapes on the ground wearily, convincing themselves those were sticks, rather than bones.

The cavern was before them, a gaping void stretched wide like a chasm leading to the depths of the earth into the lair of the Devil itself. It seemed even the sunlight thought better than approach, skirting at the edges, keeping safely a few feet into the cave, then no more.

Peter drew his sword. It wasn’t his first (or seventh) choice; old, chipped and heavy, it was hard to balance and more-so to wield freely. He used the knowledge he gathered from the very few scrolls he managed to get his hands on to polish and mend it to the best of his ability, but he was no blacksmith, and so the blade still lacked.

Still, a sword was a sword, and this one wasn’t that dull or worthless it couldn’t blind a dragon proper. Peter clang to this truth harder than to his shield (which he may have lost to the bat-swarm), for it protected a far more vulnerable part in him.

 

“ _BE_ -ast!” Peter called, but his voice cracked in the middle. He coughed and cleared his throat.

“Nice one.”

“Shut it.” Peter jabbed the horse’s ribs rather unnecessarily. “It’s just this air. It’s very dry.” 

“ _BEAST_!” he called again, pleased with how his metal helmet made his voice sound deeper than it actually was. “Come forth, foul creature, and face me!”

Peter stared ahead, determined, sword thrust forwards.

 

After about a candle-forth, his arm started to ache.

“Listen here,” the horse startled him. “I get that you’re into heroic posing, and that’s cool. But for all we know, that dragon could be out.”

“Out?” Peter snorted. “What does a dragon has to do outside of its cave, without its trove?”

“Stretch out its wings. Burn a forest. Take a leak.”

Peter lowered his arm and sheathed his sword, lips pursing. He hoped for a chance to meet the dragon in an open terrain, where he had more room to maneuver, rather than the confining tomb of an unknown cave. Not many place to dodge from a fire in a cave.  
Yet reality forced his hand once again, as it appeared he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. He rolled his right shoulder to keep it functioning; he couldn’t let his sword-arm go numb moments from this fateful encounter.

“We’ll go inside, then.”

 

The horse’s hooves were awfully loud against the stone; the sound of each step radiated back at them from the walls in the crowded space. Jonathan’s flaming tail lit the way, but also left a smoky trail, making the stuffy air even less tolerable. After a time Peter had little choice but to remove his helmet, or otherwise choke. He spent the entire day sweating like a swine beneath all his heavy gear and chainmail, and though he loathed to admit it, his stamina was beginning to dwindle.  

The tunnel seemed to go on and on; at some point, the ceiling became so low Peter had to press himself flat against the horse. He was so very tempted to step down and walk – his thighs were killing him – but if he did so, he knew he would never be able to climb back up by himself.

“The dragon must not be very big, if it can fit through here,” he tried to bring cheer to the forlorn horse, who hasn’t spoken a word since they’ve stepped into the cave.

“Or,” the horse’s tone suggested Peter was not going to like what he was going to say next- “We’re facing an Elemental Dragon, that can turn itself intangible so it can fit where its physical form couldn’t. With the curse still in place, that is most probable to be my luck.”

Peter did not know the entire tale of the curse that was cast upon Jonathan and his beloved, but for it changed their forms; after slaying the dragon, he swore to Jonathan he would help him seek a way to break it. Peter also did not know what an “Elemental Dragon” entitled, and cared not to find out. He gritted his teeth, reminded himself of Jonathan’s worth to his quest, and kept from trying to engage further conversation.

Seasoned knights thought nothing of death, only of glory; they cared not for fear, and bravery never left their hearts. In his mind, Peter recited the oaths he spoke merely a fortnight ago, a heavy blade on his shoulder, kneeling before the king himself – the oaths each knight should grave upon his soul and work around his tongue –

 

“Ow!” Peter hissed as the horse came to a sudden halt, making Peter slam his forehead right against Jonathan’s thick neck.

“Be silent!” The horse hushed him; Peter glanced upwards, trying to follow the direction his ears were twitching at.

“What is it?” he whispered, rubbing his forehead, smoothing his hair back from his sweaty forehead.

“It’s here.” The horse replied, turning his head slightly to look at Peter seriously. “And it’s awake.”

Peter swallowed against the tightness of his throat. Wordlessly, he nodded for Jonathan to carry on.

 

They’ve reached a wide hollowed space, bright despite the lack of natural sunlight; gems sparkled from the walls, as if a glittering rainbow from a legend has taken shape and has been tamed by a skillful hand of the crafts, magicked into the very heart of the mountain. Studded into the rock bed, the gems seemed as they were merely waiting to be picked, like ripe sweet apples. And their colours – Peter has never seen so many different colours in one place, not even when the fields by the village were at full bloom.

Peter almost lost himself in front of all the riches and amazing sight – before his mind caught up to what it was the stones were casting their unnatural light upon, standing tall on its luminous makeshift throne.

 

It was indeed the right cave.

 

The dragon was a hideous monstrosity of black and red; Peter could hardly grasp how humongous the creature was. He never understood why there were so many words – small was small, and big was big, wasn’t it? – but he did now. He couldn’t compare the beast to anything but the vague concept of a word, stretched as far as his imagination could go, then some. It was larger than their barn, surely, and larger than dozen of the Watson’s finely-bred stallions, stacked one upon the other like pebbles.

His breath caught.

There was a constant clatter echoing – and Peter noticed the dragon’s scales kept falling off and growing back randomly, making its hide shift like a bed of wheat stalks ruffled by a breeze – revealing soft, tender flesh only to cover it in the blink of an eye. The scales fell upon stocks upon stocked of the dragon’s stolen riches, almost obscuring the gold from view.

Yet the dragon failed to notice the arrival of doom to its doorstep, as it was deeply engaged in a dialogue with a partner Peter couldn’t quite make –

“– I’m telling you, we shouldn’t just sit around, waiting for someone to come here! We should be moving the plot ahead!”

Peter squinted; affinity to the written word and long hours spent reading with the help of a meager candle have done their work – and his eyesight was not as it had been in his youth. The dragon, his eyes told him, was snarling at what appeared to be an ivory trove chest that floated above his head, while spewing thick smoke from its muzzle, growling.

But that wasn’t right; he squinted some more.

“And my throat is itching like I’ve been sucking dick all week long –“ Peter didn’t know who this ‘Dick’ fellow was, but he prayed for his courageous soul to find solace, anyhow “– while you just– what do you mean, look behind me? I’m not an –“ the dragon paused, the prattle of his falling scales prickling against Peter’s tense nerves.

 

This was the moment of truth.

 

“ _Beast_!” Peter called, using his diaphragm instead of his throat to avoid embarrassment. “I have come – “

The dragon turned, and Peter voice died in his throat (and in his diaphragm). The dragon’s movement caused the still air to move – and as Peter’s hair ruffled, he realized he forgot to don his helmet back on, leaving his face barren of cover.

As quick as a rattlesnake, the dragon's daunting size did not diminish its grace; it was upon him in a heartbeat, lowering its gigantic head to turn huge milky eyes at the knight.

“Peter? Is that you?”

“It knows you by name!" The horse startled, then turned to Peter, mane flaming bright blue, heating the metal in which Peter was encased like an oven. "If this is a con, I –"

“We've never met!” Peter spat quickly, stunned and on the crisp of sprouting further blisters; how in all that is dear had this monster gotten his name –

 

“It _is_ you! Check it out Petey, I’m a dragon!”

Peter awkwardly looked as the dragon stretched its wings out and straightened upwards. His neck was so long Peter had to tilt his head up to catch it; its huge frame cast a sudden shadow, blocking the gems and colours of its den from sight, like a manifestation of an eclipse upon the land.

“And I’m a badass motherfucker, ain’t I! Ain’t never been in one of those, gonna give Smaug a run for his treasure, the smug British ass, I’ll show him _cucumbers_ –“

 

Peter cleared his throat.

 

“Sorry Petey, got carried away a bit. You were saying?”

“I…” Peter tried to find courage the dragon looked back at him. “For the crimes you’ve committed against the kingdom of York, I, under orders from His Majesty of House Osborn, sentence you to death. I have come here to slay you, beast.”

The dragon cocked his head to the side; a golden chest took to float to its left, near the base of its wing.

“For reals?”

Peter frowned. “Indeed my words are honest, and my intentions pure –“

“While it is a joyous occasion to see your squeaky-clean-morals challenged, I wouldn’t label ‘killing someone’ as an action that requires pure intentions – “

“You are a menace.” Peter argued, standing his ground. “You have destroyed our crops, abducted our princess –“

“What!”

“ – and have laid only ruin and destruction upon us! I will cut out your heart from your chest and free this land from your shadow!”

“Okay, that’s enough D&D talk.” The dragon snorted, “Talk shit – get hit!”

 

A clang of metal against the stone reached Peter’s ears – it was loud, but seemed to have carried from a place so very far away.

Peter lay back, dazed and aching, before the talons caged his body like iron bars and the dragon’s head filled his view. The smallest of the scales – the finest ones upon the dragon’s muzzle, clattered lightly down, against Peter’s armor and next to him on the floor. Peter felt humbled to stand in its presence; a creature so huge, so grand, so incredibly ancient – he could hardly believe it to be real.

He wished he could have been brave enough to face death head on – but he closed his eyes. He really tried. He apologizes to his uncle – his beloved, kind-hearted uncle, who took him in, sheltered him, loved him like the son he never had – for failing to take care of his aunt like he promised he would on his uncle’s deathbed. He heard a horse crying out from afar, and silently thanked Jonathan for his companionship. Even in the short time they’ve spent together, they’ve braved through many hardships. Although they quarreled too many times to account for, he knew Jonathan’s heart to be kind and true; he wished for him to save his skin and find a different person, a braver person, that’ll help him achieve his noble goal –

 

“Come on Petey, there’s only so much crossovers you can shove in a story before it gets old, and you’re not Sleeping Beauty in this one. Wakey wakey.”

Peter crinkled an eye open.

“Do not play with me, beast. Finish it.”

“Mortal Combat? Really?” The dragon heaved a sigh, and Peter was awashed with the smell of decaying corpses and a gust of warm air, that left his body chilled by terror.

“I’m not going to eat you. Vore really isn’t my thing. And it’s not Beast, do I look blue or furry to you?” The dragon sounded annoyed. “I have been called in many names, given many contradictory backstories, even contradictory eye and hair colours… but here, I am the one which pulls you down into the bosom of Death, to the eternal embrace of the afterlife. Here.” The dragon paused, halting its speech for several long moments. It was rather awkward, before it continued. “I am named Death Pull.”

“Deadpool?”

“Death. Pull.” The dragon growled.

“That’s what I’ve just said. Deadpool.”

The dragon grumbled something under its breath that went along the lines of _damned queens’ colloquialism_. The dragon was a strange one; Peter hadn’t the faintest why it’d mistake him for royalty, nor the royal association under such a name.

 

“Never mind. Tell me what’s the real deal? Ain’t like you going all court-martial on people, Petey. That ain’t justice. This country doesn't even _have_ a princess! Or a proper justice system, I say, the broken monarchy model– ah, but that’s another story. Like, an academic, seventy-six pages long mandatory-reading story. I get that My-Little-Pony here is on a quest to get his loved one back –“

“How did you know that?” Peter asked, stunned and very much out of his depth.

“What do you mean _how_?” the dragon raised a scaly brow. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a bloody – and I meant it figuratively! – dragon. A huge, badass fire-breathing flying lizard. I can smell a tragic plot-line from miles away.” It glanced at the horse, who had been lying on the ground, recovering from the impact which left him dazed.

“By the way. Aren’t you supposed to be white? I’m the last creature you could call prejudiced, it’s just, traditionally –”

Jonathan huffed in annoyance, his eyes flashing in ire as he picked himself up from the floor and turned towards the dragon. “While I have no doubt you keep to your traditions, I think there are enough white horses prancing around–"

Jonathan seemed so come out of the incident unscathed; his dark coat started to flicker with flames, before he was completely engulfed by them. He truly made a demonic sight to behold, a living, breathing flame. Yet he kept from acting out, seemingly on Peter’s behalf, as he was still within the beast’s deadly clutches. Peter wasn’t sure of the qualities of Jonathan’s peculiar powers; the saddle, reins and satchel kept from burning, but he tasted those flames first-hand, and knew them to burn flesh; but he couldn’t afford to let his mind wander.

“So, beast!” Peter cut in, before Jonathan’s temperamental nature and loose tongue would come into play to evoke to dragon’s wrath further; he sent a pointed look at Jonathan, hoping he would sober up and turn tail towards another chance at life.

"I thought we were on a first-name basis here, Petey. It's Death Pull."

“Deadpool, then. How come you ought to inquire my motives, if the facts are laid before you? An all-knowing dragon, yet you question this one simple human?”

 “Because.” The dragon answered evasively.

“And your knowledge of my name?”

“Better not start on that one.”

"And –"

"What is this, an inquisition? Sure is unexpected. Are we in Spain? Is it another–"

 

There were hooves clanking angrily on the stone floor, thrumming in Peter’s skull like a herd-worth of stomping, followed by a battle cry – Peter couldn’t quite make it, just an amber blur in the corner of his eye – before he saw Jonathan hanging up above the ground, Deadpool’s tail warped around him like a serpent, unbothered by the flames.

Peter's distraction proved moot; it seemed you could lead a horse towards freedom, but you couldn’t make it act rationally.

"Hold your horses, my little Johnny. Where's the fire?"

The horse snorted in anger and frustration, blazes of fire bursting from him, sending sparks raining down. Suddenly, the claws caging Peter in place didn’t seem like such a misfortune.

"Unhand me, you fiend!"

"Don't have any hands."

"Why, you –"

“How about this." Deadpool turned to Peter. "You tell me what’s it’s all about, and I won’t crush your friend here.”

"As if, you –" Peter could hear Jonathan’s ribcage creaking as the tail tightened around his body, cutting off his words into a choked, wheezing sputter.

“Stop!" Peter cried out, alarmed. “Don’t hurt him!”

The dragon raised a brow and removed his claws from around Peter, stepping back.

“I’m listening.”

 

Peter cleared his throat, uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the dragon's blank, flat gaze; he only ever saw such eyes in the faces of the blind, but he had no doubt the beast saw him clearly.

“It’s my aunt.”

“Your aunt told you to kill me?" The dragon sounded puzzled. "That’s a bit out of character. What, haven’t I called her the next day like I said I would? It's hardly my fault, when you pass your second millennia, your memory isn't –”

“She’s sick." Peter cut in before the dragon’s words would muddle his panicked mind further, "and we’re poor. The King had set an enormous price for your head.”

“He did? How much did he offer for this handsome mug of mine?”

“Three chests of gold.”

“That’s outrageous!” The dragon growled, flames filling the air. “I worth – at least –“ it contemplated, turning to the hovering golden chest. “How much would you say, twenty one?” It took a few moments to its wicked ways, as Peter crawled, inch by inch, to have his sword within reach; but it turned again, and those few feet between Peter and his sword might as well been an entire kingdom.

“That’s more fortune that I could ever hope for. Our cow died two moons ago, and my aunt is the only family I’ve left.”

“So you’d kill someone for money? Petey, I’m so proud – “

“It’s not like I wanted to! But you’re a dragon, you could hardly claim to be clean of –“

“Why I’d let you know I shower at least once every two decades –“

“And you did burn our fields –“

The dragon huffed in indignation. “How come every time there’s a fire and a dragon at the same place, people always point fingers? I’d tell you, that’s racial profiling, that what it is. I’m many things, but pyromaniac is not one of them. I didn’t torch down your fields. Why would I even do that? Think, Petey. If I eat your cows, and burn all your corps, what would there be left for me to eat within flying-distance?”

“Who did, then?”

The dragon sent a snide look back.

Peter followed the dragon’s gaze.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous –“ Peter’s protest died in his throat as the horse looked away, turning his head from him in shame. Peter couldn’t make his expression. Mostly because he was a horse, and they didn’t have many expressions, or eyebrows. He hoped he appeared as guilty as he ought to have.

“Jonathan?!”

“I didn’t know what else to do.” The horse admitted weakly.

“I should’ve known better than to trust a cursed, talking equine,” Peter called, betrayed. “You _lied_ to me. Under oath!”

“I haven’t lied! I… I implied! I’ve never told you it was the dragon that burned down those fields –“

“The plot thickens!" The dragon said, gleeful. "Not that it was very hard, considering it was pretty thin to begin with, but now I get to say –" Deadpool waved its tail around, “– and you would’ve gotten away with it, if it weren’t for those meddling kids!”

Still hung in the air, the horse twisted and writhed, choking on his breath as the tail tightened around him. A hefty rock fell from the satchel around his neck, plummeting down, much like rocks tend to do when they fall.

"Ben!" The horse cried.

Swiftly, the dragon caught the rock in one paw, turning its attention away from Peter to inspect it.

"What a… _grim_ situation," the dragon bore its teeth in a menacing smile. "It seems you're both out of luck." It brought the struggling horse upwards in an arc, smoke spilling from between his fangs. "The beef between us is about to get a lot beefier –"  

Peter concluded the dragon was utterly without reason, but the thought did not trouble him as it should’ve. It seemed he exhausted his fear into an unsettling indifference towards the worth of his own life.

Yet he was foolish enough to still care for Jonathan.

"Don't! Please, Deadpool," the knight called desperately. Deadpool turned towards him, unfazed. At that moment, it was truly frightening; a ravenous predator distracted from its prey, turning towards Peter like a killer, with no trace of the silly antics it seemed to favor.

"He burnt down your fields."

"He did."

"Punishable by death, you've said."

"Uherm." Peter offered intelligently.

"That's racist." The dragon grudgingly lowered the horse, pinning him to the floor. "Counter-offer?"

"I –" Peter was at loss; what could he possibly offer against the price of Jonathan’s life?

“You worry your pretty little head over that, while your ponyta here would spill the beans or I’d spill his intestines.”

Deadpool took several steps forwards, each of black sharp claws glinting like an obsidian dagger, horrifyingly close to Jonathan’s exposed underbelly.

“Who put you up to it?” Deadpool snarled.

“The king,” Jonathan relented in a small voice. “It was the king.”

“The king?” Deadpool asked. “What’s to his will and yourself?”

“A moon ago, nothing.” The horse spoke in a dejected tone, eyes to the paw which still held the fallen rock. “But the king has many allies. There’s a notorious sorcerer among them, who goes by the name of Mysterio. It is he who cast the curse upon my beloved. King Osborn promised he would lift the curse, at the price of your head. It is he who told me to burn down the fields, and suggested I’d seek assistance among the peasants.”

“Osborn?...” Deadpool grumbled, “Wherever did I hear–“

“So you weren’t lying about the curse?” Peter asked quietly as the dragon muttered to itself.

“I wasn’t. You have no reason to take my word–“

“Osborn!” Deadpool cut off their exchange with a triumphant roar which made both of their hearts skip a beat, descending upon them. “You mean The Goblin King?”

“The very one. He haven’t gone by that title for many years.”

“It’s been canceled.” Deadpool shook its head distractedly. “Last I’ve heard he was stealing babies and creepily propositioning minors–“

One of the chests buzzed excitedly around the dragon’s head; it craned its neck towards the white trove chest, humming thoughtfully and nodding to itself.

“That could work, actually.” Deadpool told the floating trove chest, before turning back to Peter.

"How's your math-skills, Petey?"

"Huh?"

"Can you add numbers?"

"Indeed.”

“What’s two times two?”

Peter counted his fingers carefully.

“… Four?”

“Excellent! You’re hired!”

“Hired?”

"You drive a tough bargain, my man. Hear me out, Petey! Murder makes nice pocket change. But how about!" Deadpool grinned, and it didn’t seem as awful as it had when it was about to feast upon their flesh. "You'll be my accountant instead."

"Your… what?"

"Accountant. It means you’d keep track of my treasure, and I’d pay you for it.” The dragon narrowed its eyes. “You wouldn't steal from me, would you?"

"Of course not! On my honour –" Peter stopped, looking up. “But what of my aunt? Am I to never see her again?” His heart wilted at the mere thought. “She is old and sickly, who would care for her?”

“You could visit her any time. I’d fly you there myself, if needed.”

“That’s very gracious of you,” Peter said, mind still not fully processing the offer he was about to accept. “Yet, I don’t think that’s put me in the king’s favor. Even disregarding his animosity towards you, I swore an oath to use my sword to serve him. Going against my word to work under you shall be more than a mere act of insubordination – it’d be an outright betrayal. I’d be risking not only myself, but also – ”

Deadpool huffed some smoke from his nostrils, as if it was clearing its airways.

“You mean this sword?” Deadpool plucked the up from the floor and tossed it to the other side of the room, where it crashed noisily into an assortment of coins and weaponry. A pile of coins shuddered and collapsed, effectively burying the sword, like a needle in a haystack.

Peter gaped.

“Whoopsie!”

Pere gaped some more.

“Wait here.” The dragon turned and with a precise movement dug into one of the cluttered piles, drawing out a long black sheath, adorned with red argyle pattern, carefully handing it to Peter. Peter took it by instinct rather than by conscious decision. He drew the blade; it was unconventional piece, thinner and lacking in its width compared to the common sword, the tip ending in a single diagonal line rather than two. However, it was terrifically well-balanced, and its lighter weight proved an advantage as he experimented to familiarize himself with the weapon. The leather-bound handle was much easier to grasp then the bare metal hilt, and there was strength and potential with every strike he stabbed the air with.

“There. Technically, that’s not a sword, so your oath-virtue is safe. You can even name it oath-keeper!”

“You’re…. giving it to me?” Peter asked, not quite managing to cover his disbelief. Dragons didn’t just part with their treasure; they were infamously possessive.

“Sure. Consider it a down payment.”

(What Peter didn’t know, is that Deadpool wasn’t parting with his treasure. The dragon was merely assigning a new piece to guard an old one.

  
And what Peter didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.)

“Thank you!” Peter smiled, not holding into his suspicion with his hands busy grasping his new prized gift. Yet he could not truly rejoice; he glanced to the side, where Jonathan still lay.

“And what about Jonathan?”

“What about him?”

“There’s still the curse.”

“I’d take care of it. We’d go back to your village, take out The Evil Goblin King and all will be well! How does that sound?”

“Ah –“

"Then it's settled! We caught the pyromaniac, the princess is in another castle, and your aunt would be dandy – off you go, Bizzaro-Pegasus fire-cracker –" Deadpool nudged the horse up towards Peter with the tip of his tail, sending the horse stumbling forwards.

"Peter," Jonathan approached Peter slowly, ears lowered in what was probably hesitation and maybe a tinge of regret; Peter wasn’t sure, seeing as he came to realize he could not trust horses.

"Please, forgive me. I could never atone –"

"You've mislead me." Peter bit, feeling angry and upset. "I've thought us to be allies. I’ve thought us friends."

"We are!” The horse was quick to say. “We are friends, Peter. I have done you wrong, but it was not with ill intent towards you. I didn't know what else to do. He's my One True Love."

"Awww," Deadpool cooed at the stone in his paw. "I ship you! Besides, better you smooching him than Petey!"

The horse turned, as Deadpool placed the stone carefully on the ground.

"Stand back," it warned curtly, before taking a deep breath –

" _NO_!" Jonathan cried, leaping into the flames cast by the dragon.

 

There was a light so brilliant Peter had no choice but to cover his eyes, stumbling backwards. Even shielded behind his arms, his eyes burned white.

 

When he blinked them open, it took him a short while to adjust and for the spots to disappear; he tried to make what he was seeing, while Jonathan made miserable sounds.

 

"There, there," a gritty, deep voice grumbled, sounding tender. "It's alright, now."

Peter stared.

Cradling the Jonathan’s head beneath his hands was what appeared to be an assortment of rocks in the hues of orange and copper, crudely stuck in a humanoid shape.

Jonathan’s One True Love was a cave troll.

And that wasn’t even what Peter was most disturbed by.

 

"You're still a horse?!"

"No, I'm a magical unicorn!” Jonathan snorted at him. “Of course I'm still a horse, what did you expect?!"

"I –"

"Shush." The dragon muttered, lowering its head, muzzle nudging Peter's torso lightly in disapproval. "No kink shaming."

"How did that work?” Peter asked, hand resting on the beast’s muzzle to balance himself. It was pleasantly warm and smooth to the touch. “What did you do?"

"The power of True Love, plus a convenient incident bound to create a flashing light of oblivion and all that jazz. Classic deus ex machina, Petey. Should've paid more attention during literature class.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Peter said, watching the reunion; it seemed the lovers both reconciled enough to start arguing loudly. Deadpool paid them no heed.

“You have a lot to learn, young grasshopper.”

Peter agreed wholeheartedly.

 

*

 

_Deadpool and Peter fought bravely against The Goblin King, assisted by their loyal friends, Ben and Jonathan. They managed to dethrone the rotten sod and establish a democratic government (by force, as democracy naturally should be implemented when the righteous fight against an evil tyrant for the good of the people). The death toll of the entire ordeal wasn’t even that high, Deadpool assured them, and even if it seemed they’ve sent the kingdom into chaos where mayhem knows no bounds, the villagers would come to appreciate their efforts over time._

_… and they all lived Happily Ever After – just up until they died._

_(Now they have fancy tombstones to show off at the next Skeleton War.)_

**_THE END_ **

 

**Author's Note:**

> ✧･ﾟ:*Ramadan Kareem!*:･ﾟ✧  
> All feedback is greatly appreciated! Please feel free to point out grammar mistakes or typos; constructive criticism is always welcome :)


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